Above and beyond
by Lucida Bright
Summary: One long eventful night leads to an eventful Christmas, in white tie and tails.
1. Chapter 1

_Thanks to Wombledon, as ever. Wise beta. _

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There was no escape. Gene knew he was for the high jump, and could do nothing to save himself. He looked at his watch. About half an hour to go. He looked round the room at the noisy flock of penguins and birds of paradise; saw Alex Drake laughing up at some smooth grey-haired bastard, putting her hand on his arm and smiling round at the other three admirers standing too close to her. A hand touched his own arm, and he turned to find the Chief Superintendent's wife trying to get his attention. 'Sorry, Mrs Marsden. Some white wine? Of course…'

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At the end of October, Marsden had called Gene to his office with good news; at least Marsden thought it good news. 'I've had a letter from the Traverso Trust.'

Gene looked blank.

'It's an influential charity promoting humanitarian and civic dedication. A royal patron and a film star president. High profile.'

He looked none the wiser.

'You're to get a bravery award, Gene. Congratulations.'

'What on earth for, sir?'

'Specifically, the Spitalfields siege in June.'

'Oh, Christ. Thought I'd heard the last of that. Boody press made a meal of it at the time.'

'Most people would be pleased to be honoured.'

Gene sighed impatiently. 'It's only because the kids had some famous father. Didn't notice WPC Granger getting an award for tackling Hollis. Or any of my team for the courage they show almost every day looking after the ungrateful sods in this flaming city. All they get is abuse, usually.'

'All right, Hunt. Then accept the award for your team, if you like. But accept it you will. The awards dinner is on the twenty third of December – please accept promptly. If you don't possess white tie and tails, I'd book some quickly – Moss Bros will be busy that close to Christmas.' Marsden saw the look of complete disgust on Gene's face and laughed. 'It won't be that bad, Gene. Lots of pretty women in their finery making a fuss of you. How hard will that be?' He clapped his DCI on the shoulder and sent him on his way.

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So here he was, stuck on a table with eight people he didn't much care about, and the one he did being eaten alive by the charmers either side of her. He'd had no idea that Alex was coming to this torture of an evening but as far as he was concerned she was just adding to his torment, out of reach but in his line of sight throughout dinner; beautiful, shimmering in emerald green silk shot through with black, her shoulders bare and begging to be kissed.

The Chief Super had told him to be at Fenchurch East at six in the full Moss Bros rig-out; black trousers and tails, white shirt with cufflinks and a stiff collar – he thought they'd been ditched before he was born, for god's sake – white waistcoat, white bow tie and black tailcoat. And the greatest imposition of all, black shoes. He knew the Chief Super would only send him back to change if he'd worn his comfortable boots, so he'd dug out the black beasts from the back of his wardrobe and polished them to a mirror finish. Thank god there was no full length mirror at Fenchurch East, so he had only to endure the reflection in the eyes of the plods who happened to see him. That was bad enough. At least he'd had the sense to pack CID off to Luigi's early.

He was waiting at the front desk chatting to Viv when Marsden rolled up in his father-in-law's venerable Bentley. 'Evening, Hunt. Where's DI Drake?'

'Drake? I don't know, sir. She left early.'

'Well, I suggest you pop up and get her.'

'She's coming with us?'

'Didn't you know?'

'You must have forgotten to tell me, sir.'

Gene let himself into Luigi's building and traipsed upstairs wondering what kind of reception he'd get; they'd had words that afternoon and had avoided each other until Alex left at five without a backward look.

_She started it._ First thing, she'd made some crack about the penguin suit hanging in his office. 'Where's the top hat and cane, Twinkletoes?'

_Cheeky mare._ Of course the CID comedians heard her, and he'd had nothing but Fred and Ginger jokes all sodding day. Not to mention overhearing Shaz asking where Alex was going with her new hairdo and her new frock and not hearing the answer, and imagining Alex dancing all night, or doing something all night, with some posh tosser in his Mayfair penthouse. Not to mention dreading the whole damned evening ahead of him, eating pointless food and making pointless small talk with vacuous hoorays and not able to drink till the fucking award thing was over and wishing he was dead, or in Brussels, which had to be worse…

So what did she expect? Giving him grief about another idiotic theory she'd dreamed up had been the outside of enough. He sighed as he trudged up the second flight. His heart had flipped just now when Marsden said Alex was joining them, but then he'd realised he'd get the cold shoulder all evening, which would be worse than if she wasn't there at all. _Fuck it. I've had worse nights_. Five hours of hell then it would be over. He could stand five hours. _Five bloody hours. I could be in Magaluf in five hours._

She answered his summons and unlocked the door, but dashed back into the flat without opening it properly, calling over her shoulder. 'Hello, sir – come in. Won't be a sec.'

'Don't think you've ever called me _sir_ before, Bolls. Quite like it.'

She started like a doe from her bedroom, and at the sight of him blushed a deep rose. 'Gene! I thought it was Marsden. I…' She faltered, wide-eyed; lips parted. She swayed and clutched at the doorframe.

'Okay, Bolls?' He put out a hand to steady her, but pulled back before he touched her naked arm.

'Yes. Er... Not used to these heels.'

_Dear Christ but she's gorgeous_… She was almost wearing an off-the-shoulder green dress that began a long way south of her collarbones and fell to her ankles; the blush warmed the flawless skin of her throat, the swell of her breasts. His cock was about to rise to attention and salute. _Flaming hell. How am I going to… Concentrate. Think Betty Turpin. Deidre Barlow. Cissy and Ada_.

He cleared his throat. 'You ready, then?'

'Mmm… Just need… Would you mind…?' She turned her back to him. 'There's a hook at the top. Can't reach. Stupid – so small. Could you…?'

She was asking him to touch her. Asking him to fasten the bloody dress when all he longed for in the world was to slide the zip down and push his hands beneath the fabric, stroke that rosy flesh… _Kevin Keegan. Graeme Souness. Bobby Ball. Poofs with perms. Limp droopy tashes. Droopy. Limp_. Trying to keep his hands from shaking he found the miniscule hook and eye, united them and stepped away from the danger zone. 'There you go. Done.'

'Thanks.' Her voice sounded a bit husky and she shivered. She went into her bedroom and picked up a swathe of black.

'That your coat, Bolls? Here. Let me.' He took the fabric from her. Heavy, unbelievably soft, cool, almost liquid as it slithered through his hands. 'Bloody hell – what's it made of?'

'Silk velvet with a satin lining. It's old – nineteen twenties, maybe earlier. Found it in Brick Lane.'

Gene helped her into the full length coat, allowing himself to hold her shoulders for a moment as she fastened the buttons. 'We must look like refugees from some poncy Edwardian stage play.'

'You scrub up quite well, Guv.'

He made some grumbling noise, and she turned to him with a half-smile. 'Bet you haven't seen yourself in a mirror, have you?'

Despite his protesting noises she pushed him into her bedroom, which on any other occasion would have been a dream come true, but this was thoroughly bloody unnecessary. There was a long mirror propped against the wall, and there was a Gene Hunt in it. But not the Gene Hunt he knew. 'Oh, Christ. Fairy Mary and it's all me arse….'

Alex stood behind him, looking over his shoulder at his reflection so at least he could see her face in the mirror as well as his idiot self.

'A hard man in gentleman's costume. A wolf in sheep's clothing. You'll have all the women flocking, Gene.'

'All the desperate ones, maybe.'

'I'll bet you ten quid that you'll have a queue of beautiful women wanting to dance with you.'

'Define queue.'

'Four or more.'

'Define beautiful.'

'A woman of any age that you'd take to bed.'

'Four or more?'

'Ten quid.'

'You're on.' Gene knew he was safe. For one thing he looked like a poof, and for another, the only woman he wanted to take to bed was Alex, and there was only one of her. Ten quid, in the bag.

What neither of them had said was whether Alex would be one of the four in the queue.

Picking up her evening bag she turned to him. 'Gene?' She took a breath. 'Sorry I shouted at you this afternoon.'

'All forgotten, Bolly.'

'And forgiven?' She looked as though it really mattered to her.

'Nothing to forgive, Bolls.'

She held her hand out for him to shake. 'All square, then, Guv?'

He took her hand and lifted it to his lips. Softly kissed her knuckles. He got a fraction of a glimpse of her expression before he she schooled her features into a friendly smile and he released her hand; he didn't know if he'd imagined it, but it was enough to flood him with a warm tide of a feeling he wasn't going to analyse. _Who are you kidding?_

As they left the building, Gene bumped into a solid figure at the top of the steps leading down to the bar.

'Sorry, pal.' The figure took a few steps back. 'Bloody hell… _Guv_.'

'Something wrong, Ray?' Gene's tone was not encouraging.

'No. Er, just, like…'

Chris and Shaz were on his heels, gawping at their senior officers. Shaz found her voice first. '_Wow_, Ma'am. You look so beautiful!'

'Thank you, Shaz.'

'And Guv… _yum_… Never thought…'

'What, Granger?'

'You ought to go to posh dos more often. Or wear that schmutter to the office. Every day…'

Chris was scowling, jealous of his girl drooling over the Guv, and he dragged her off, giggling and looking over her shoulder.

As they crossed the street to where Marsden was waiting for them, Gene muttered to his DI. 'Shaz was right. About you.'

Alex looked surprised. 'Thank you… And Gene? I told you so.' As he turned his head, frowning, she waggled her eyebrows at him, smiling. 'Yum…'

'All right, Sarky Knickers…'

Before she could reply, the Chief Super opened the door of the Bentley and ushered her in, tucking in the hem of her long coat before pushing the door shut. 'Come on, Hunt. Hop in. We're late.'

They reached Regent's Park in good time, parked only a couple of minutes' walk away along the Outer Circle, and joined the well-dressed queue edging into the immaculate Regency portico of Lyonesse House. Small holly trees in tubs, fairy lights everywhere outside, and a twenty foot Christmas tree in the stairwell pointed at Christmas round the corner, but Gene noticed with relief that the festive theme stopped there. The private residence of a generous benefactor, the place was big enough to host a dinner for two hundred with room to spare for dancing, as well as a small stage where the inescapable speeches were to be made.

But before the dinner came the reception, and Marsden's award-winning little party was shepherded through the top notch hoi polloi into a relatively small room labelled the Red Study, where they were introduced to assorted bigwigs including the royal duke and the film star at the top of the Traverso Trust's headed notepaper. Those two faces Gene knew well enough, but he had to press the flesh of a cluster of nobs and luvvies he didn't recognise and didn't particularly want to know; the men were genial or faintly patronising, and the women ranged from terrifying to openly flirtatious. One flute of champagne didn't go far, and he cast around for Alex. She, of course, was in her element, fielding compliments and fending off the instantly besotted. _Know how they feel._ There was a hand on his arm; he looked down to see a small blonde woman who must have been exquisitely pretty ten years ago; he wondered what had caused the puffy face, bags under the eyes, less than clear skin and air of polite desperation.

'You're DCI Hunt.' She sounded certain, and beamed at him. 'I'm Nerissa Blomfield. My husband's a director of the Trust, and while he's got the Duchess, I get to sit next to you at dinner.' The eyelashes actually fluttered. _Oh, shit. I should get danger money for this_.

The circular tables were big enough for a sumo bout, and Gene would find it hard to talk to anyone beyond his immediate neighbours; he knew he had Mrs Desperate on one side, and prayed for a human being on the other. He got Mrs Marsden. _Saved_. The Chief Super's missus was good company; she knew his world but she didn't talk shop, and she had an evil sense of humour after the second glass of wine. Pretty too, in a comfortable sort of a way.

He looked round the table. On Mrs M's left was a familiar TV face, Leon whosit, presenter of impeccable niceness trusted by the entire nation; beyond him was Minty Gallo, mother of the kids involved in the siege, who had greeted Gene at the reception with a huge hug and an overexcited kiss. _Full of life. Nice woman_. She had Marsden on her left, and right opposite Gene was nice Leon's nice wife, sitting next to Andrew Gallo, best selling author, media pundit and grateful father of besieged children. He'd also given Gene a hug earlier, but had stopped short of the snog; he had Alex on his left. _Lucky sod_. Between her and Mrs Desperate was a smug, oily lecher who had Self Made Man printed on his forehead. He declared himself to be one of the night's sponsors, and clearly believed that sponsorship benefits included feeling up the prettiest female guests. Gene hadn't bothered to listen to his name, but heard Alex call him Rick in increasingly irritable tones through dinner.

Knowing he had the pigging award to collect at some stage, and knowing the grief he'd get from all directions if he fucked it up, Gene made one glass of very good white wine stretch while everyone else seemed to be getting noisily pissed, especially Mrs Desperate next to him, and Oily Git next to Alex. By the time the staff had served pudding Gene was visibly twitching, and he was relying on Mrs M's soothing presence to keep from relieving his jangled nerves by smashing his fist into Oily Git's nose.

At that moment, a waiter lobbed up and slid a little piece of paper into Gene's hand. 'For you, sir.'

'Who from?'

'A lady, sir.'

'Which one?'

'I couldn't say, sir.'

'Oh, I think you could.

'Mind's a blank, sir. Sorry.'

Before Gene could grasp his white lapels, the waiter had dematerialised. He unfolded the note. It was in neat capitals, the writing unfamiliar.

'_Hello copper. Their's something you __must__ know before you get your award. The Red Study, soon as coffee is served.' _

Gene looked round. _Who the hell sent this?_ Man or woman? A waiter was watching him, which might match the bad English. A harpy in red was smiling at him, but looked too pissed to write. Youngish woman in pink fluff, also smiling at him. Could be, but why? Minty winked at him, but it couldn't be her, surely. She adored her husband and if she'd known something important she'd just have told him. _Heigh ho. The only way to find out is to find out_.

Gene got to his feet just as Oily Git made his latest move on Alex. In one smooth move, he gripped the lecherous bastard by the elbow and gave him absolutely no option but to accompany Gene out of the room and down a quiet corridor. Shoving the prick against a staircase so his head was half through the banisters, Gene let his social veneer slip. 'Don't think we've been introduced. I'm a copper with a reach as long as a donkey's dong. The lady you've been vexing is my esteemed colleague. You will leave her alone now. I shan't bother detailing potential scenarios should you choose to ignore my polite request, but believe me, sunshine, you won't like 'em. They will be embarrassing, and official, and newsworthy.' He shoved the sponsor's head and shoulders against the spindles again. 'Am I getting through?'

Oily Git's eyes closed, and he nodded wearily.

'Good man.' Gene let him down and patted his shoulder. 'Off you jolly well go, then.' He slunk off, and Gene headed for the Red Study and his mystery informant.

The room was in darkness; Gene switched the lights on at the door but found no-one lurking in the shadows. Several minutes passed without incident, and he sat down on the only seating in the room, a big red sofa across one corner.

He was about to leave when the door opened a crack and the lights were snapped off. Before he could turn round to see who it was, a shadow slipped in from the corridor and closed the door softly, turning the key in the lock.

'What the…' Gene got to his feet in the pitch blackness; he heard the rustle of feminine skirts and felt soft hands on his shoulders. Lips at his ear, teeth tugging gently on his earlobe, making him hiss at his body's instant response. Hands running down his body, one to his arse, one to his fly, unzipping him, undoing the buttons at his waist, pushing him back down on to the sofa and parting clothes to free his cock.

'_Jesus_… what the… _oh Christ…_'

She gave him no time to think. He felt one hand reaching in to cup his balls; he pushed his hips forward to give her access, groaning and gasping as she licked the length of him, curling her tongue round his shaft, her thumb and finger squeezing, her long, clever tongue squirming round the head, finding his sensitive spots, her breath hot on his eager flesh. 'You angel… _you wicked dirty angel…_' He was groaning, cursing, reaching for her. Hair pulled away from her face, tied back; soft wool over her shoulders. Then he was whirled away on a tide of sensation as she took him into her mouth, hot, wet, sucking, squeezing, flicking, driving him to the point of insanity, blind, enslaved, helpless. His head tipped back, arms outstretched and fingers clutching at the upholstery in ecstasy as she drove him over the edge, pyrotechnics flashing behind his eyes as he exploded into her mouth; she took everything he could give her and left him breathless, dizzy, spinning slowly back to earth.

It took him several minutes to come to his senses properly, able to stand up and see straight; the fallen angel was long gone. _Fucking wonderful. Jesus Horatio Jones but that was fucking amazing…_ He made his way to the door and turned the lights on, pulled his clothes back into place, and left the room, legs not entirely steady, heading outside for a smoke in the cold air. Lighting up, his hands were still shaking, but the first hit of nicotine began to calm him, and by the time the smokers were called inside by a white-jacketed steward, he was feeling ridiculously mellow.

As he made his way back to the table, Gene looked for a woman with hair tied back and a woolly wrap or somesuch. The only candidate he could spot was the Duchess, and much as the thought amused him, he thought it a tad unlikely. He had a nasty moment when Mrs Desperate rocked up, aka Lady Nerissa, and Gene noticed her hair swept back from her face, and a soft shawl round her shoulders. But unless she was a BAFTA winning actress, she was surely too pissed to perform so adroitly.

Alex was across the room being charmed by the Trust's president, a genuine British film star with very blue eyes and a handful of ex-wives. The old smoothie had his hand on Alex's arm and was standing so close she could have counted the hairs up his nose. _She gets that sort of interest and you think she's going to set her sights on you. Fuckwit._

But Alex caught sight of him and abandoned the screen superspy, making a beeline for him. 'Gene… what on earth did you say to Rick Moss?'

'The oily git? Not much.'

She gurgled with laughter. 'Oh, dear. Poor sod. No wonder…'

'What, Bolls?'

'He came over, red in the face, muttered an apology and sloped off. So whatever you did to him, thank you.'

'What are friends for, Bolly?'

She gave him a smile of real sweetness, then turned to greet Marsden. 'Hello sir, having a good evening?'

'In such delightful company, Alex? How could one not, eh, Hunt?'

'I was very lucky to have Mrs Marsden's company through dinner, sir.'

'And Lady Nerissa.'

'As I say, I was very lucky to have Mrs Marsden's company.'

The Chief Super patted Gene's shoulder approvingly. 'Very impressed to see you sober, Hunt. Ready for your big moment?'

'Looking forward to it, sir.'

'Good man.' Marsden wandered back to his seat and poured another glass of wine for Mrs Leon Wotsit, just as the room was called to order.

Gene heard very little of the speeches, his body celebrating its private little award ceremony, his blood still fizzing. Half his remaining brain was finding tactful things to say to a voluble and nearly paralytic Nerissa Blomfield, and the other half was watching Alex. He registered the arrival of the Duke on stage, then a man and a woman he didn't recognise, then Alex's fan the film star. He at least was funny and happy to take the piss out of himself and his tinselly world, and caught Nerissa's attention, taking the pressure off Gene for half an hour which let him focus all his attention on Alex. He watched her responding to her new chum's performance, laughing on cue, her expressive face reacting to each switch of mood. At one moment, she turned to look at him across the table, their eyes meeting, that sweet smile blooming on her lips and in her eyes; only for a moment, but his heart missed a beat and he forgot to breath until she turned back to the stage, leaving his head spinning and his body tingling. Surely she couldn't smile at him like that and not feel something for him. Maybe he'd find out tonight. _Maybe_.

The chairman fellow was announcing the first award. _Better listen. Embarrassing if I missed my cue after all this palaver._ They applauded a string of worthy winners, then Nice Leon got up quietly and went to the side of the stage in time for the Trust chairman to introduce him. Marsden was beaming, and turned to look at Alex for a second, which obviously puzzled her. Gene's antennae twitched.

Leon the Nice stepped to the microphone and announced the award for Female Role Model of the Year. He threw out some statistics about women in the workplace, women in public life, inspirational names, beauty, grace, genius, courage, dedication, blah. Gene began to switch off as he went on about wasted talent and neglected economic potential, but the word _police_ snapped him back to attention. He glanced over at Alex, who was suddenly looking apprehensive; Mrs Marsden was beaming as happily as the Chief Super. Gene felt a grin threaten to crack his face as Leon came to the point.

'… Role Model of the Year is Detective Inspector Alex Drake.'

Gene found himself on his feet, grinning broadly at her, and within a heartbeat the rest of the table was up and applauding. She was staring at him, frozen into her seat for a long second, shocked to the core. Andrew Gallo, realising she'd had no idea of what was coming, helped her to her feet, and Gene cursed himself for not being the one at her elbow. Gallo's gesture was all that she needed, and she made her way confidently to the stage to accept the chunk of glass from her Hollywood buddy, who didn't waste the opportunity to kiss her. A hand on her naked back, he guided her to the rostrum, and the applause died.

'Gosh, this is heavy.' She put the trophy carefully by the microphone, giving herself a few precious seconds to pull herself together. 'Nobody told me this was on the cards, so forgive me if I seem a little dazed.'

The audience laughed with her.

'I'm very touched and honoured to be given this award, and I just wish my parents could be here tonight. They were my inspiration as a little girl, and perhaps their early deaths were a spur for me to prove myself and make them proud. If your daughters have dreams and ambitions, help to make them real. If your daughters don't yet know all the possibilities that are open to them, show them. And try to stay alive. I don't recommend my parents' example.' A sympathetic murmur from the audience prompted a bright smile from her as she continued. 'Give them the confidence and the support they will need to succeed in spite of the foolish prejudice they will meet and the frustrations of operating in a man's world. Women who, like me, have bosses who are prepared to listen and give us a fair chance, must do the same for those who follow us up the ladder. If you encourage your employees, and your children, regardless of their gender, attitudes will begin to change, and maybe in your children's lifetimes we will have not just Chief Constables, but Chief Consta_belles_; perhaps even a Metropolitan Police Commissioness. Thank you so much…'

As she'd been speaking, Gene had quietly edged his way towards the stage, and was standing at the foot of the steps when Alex finished speaking and the applause rang out. She picked up her award and made her way to the steps, shepherded by her two champions. But it was Gene she saw holding up his hand to guide her down the steps amidst a storm of applause; the look she gave him as she took his hand was reward enough, but she didn't let go for a few seconds, clutching on to him so that he could feel her trembling.

'Well done, love.' He barely got the words out before Mr Hollywood swept Alex ahead of him through the corridor of good wishes, back to her table and the welcoming arms of the Chief Super. Gene followed in the wake of Nice Leon, and claimed the place abandoned by the Oily Git. When Alex was finally able to park the glass trophy and sit down, she leant over to Gene and hissed a question at him. 'Did you know about it?'

'About two seconds before you did.'

'Okay. Then I don't have to kill you.' With an incandescent smile, she reached for his hand beneath the table, and her touch sent sparks zinging through his body. 'Thank god you were by the steps. Don't think I'd have got down them otherwise; my knees were shaking so much.'

'It didn't show. You looked cool as ice cream and…' He snapped his mouth shut before he said what was in his head.

'And what?'

'And a real credit to the Force.'

She smiled, but it wasn't the openhearted expression of before, and she let go of his hand, turning to watch the next award.

_You fucking idiot. Why not pay her a compliment? It wouldn't have killed you. _He leaned forward so he could speak quietly into her ear. 'Cool as ice cream… and twice as edible.'

She looked round at him, blushing, the smile dancing in her eyes; she reached a hand back to his and squeezed for an instant, before joining in the applause for the next winner.

And then it was his turn, and apparently the big finale; even the tranquillising effect of the Red Study was failing to quell the stage fright completely. Nor was he allowed to go and get the thing, say thanks and scarper. For this final award, the bastards were making him and the entire room sit through a bloody documentary.

Andrew Gallo was on stage telling the story of the siege, when his family were held at gunpoint by two robbers. His wife Minty had been injured, and she'd been released when Gene offered himself as hostage along with the two children. A best-selling crime novelist, Gallo was a brilliant storyteller, and the crowd was spellbound. Then came the cruncher – a three minute interview with the kids and the injured Minty, filmed a few days afterwards by ITN. Seven year old Gubby and his fourteen year old sister Lucilla told the story that unfolded in the house, before dramatic news footage of Gene bringing the children out of the house and handing them to their father. There was a shot of Gene's coat with its evidence tag, the collar shredded by gunshot, and a reconstruction of what Gene would have seen as the shotgun was turned on him and fired at point blank range, with the children's voices over the graphic images. After a second's silence, the lights came up, and Andrew Gallo gave Gene a film-star build up. 'I am delighted to say that the 1981 Traverso Trust award for courage above and beyond the call of duty goes to… Detective Chief Inspector Gene Hunt.'

He felt quite detached as he made his way to the stage to thunderous applause, and received the heavy glass trophy from the Duchess. She gestured him to the microphone, and the noise died away.

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_Final chapter to come - all done, 'The end' already typed._


	2. Breathless

_Thanks as ever to Wombledon for swift beta and pointy stick._

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He looked around the room for a couple of seconds, and saw the anxious faces of Alex and the Chief Super. _Can't let her down_. He stood tall and spoke out. 'It's a privilege to serve the people of this city and I'm very grateful to the Trust, and to the Gallo family for their very kind words. This award is a great honour, but I can't accept it.' There was deathly silence, the audience holding its collective breath. 'Not on my own behalf. I will accept it for my colleague, DI Alex Drake, who as you heard a few minutes ago, has faced serious danger many times since joining the CID team at Fenchurch East this past summer; for a young woman police constable, Sharon Granger, who nearly died when she tackled a man who had been threatening our lives with a loaded gun. For each of my team, for every copper in London and around the country who shows courage every day of the year in order to uphold the law and protect the lives and property and peace of mind of all of you who live, work and play in this great country: police officers who very rarely receive the recognition and praise they deserve. On their behalf, and from the bottom of my heart, I thank you.'

The room rose as one to cheer him; as he made his way down the steps in the wake of the Duchess, with Andrew Gallo on his heels, Gene caught a glimpse of Alex wiping a tear from her eye, but the instant his feet touched the floor he was besieged by well-wishers, the walk back to his table slowed to snail's pace by backslapping, handshakes and kisses in a blur of beaming faces, showered in congratulations and compliments.

Back at the table, the plaudits continued, albeit in hushed tones as the Trust's chairman wound up the ceremony and announced the dancing. Gene was surrounded by goodwill, but the only person whose congratulations he wanted was crowded out, standing quietly, smiling, waiting for her chance. Seeing a gap in the cordon, Alex stretched out a hand to him, but he could only touch her fingers before Nerissa Blomfield grabbed his lapels and planted a gin-soaked kiss on his lips.

Champagne corks flew on Marsden's triumphal table, and released from duty, Gene did his best to catch up with the rest of them, cheerfully accepting drinks from strangers and letting himself enjoy the moment. But he needed something – someone – to make his night. He looked round for Alex, and spotted her across the room, besieged by a black and white army. _Bugger them. It's my turn now_. Emboldened by champagne and a few drams, he weaved his way through the room and broke through the cordon, grabbing the laughing hostage by the hand and pulling her after him to the door. 'Scuse us, lads. Police business.'

A custodial arm round her waist, Gene steered Alex through the room, ruthlessly ignoring wellwishers.

'What's up, doc?'

'Apart from my blood pressure? You've committed a gaffe of monumental proportions, Bolly, and it needs to be addressed.'

She stopped dead, heels dug into the Axminster. '_What?_'

He turned to her, eyes glittering. 'You haven't yet offered me your congratulations, Bolly. The Chief Super, his missus, a Duchess and a hundred and ninety five strangers have managed it, but my very own detective inspector? No.'

She made a rueful face. 'Oh, Gene… I did try, but you were swamped with pretty women and…'

'Pathetic, Drake. No excuse.'

Not exactly sober, Alex hung her head and looked up at him through her lashes. 'Am I in trouble?'

'You're going to be on the carpet for this, Bolly.'

'Am I in for a bollocking, Guv?' Her hand slid into his.

_Oh, Jesus. Christmas is coming…_ Gene knew that taking advantage of a pissed and excited Alex was a complete fucking disaster in the making, but it was most of his dreams on a tinsel-wrapped platter, and his cock was telling him it was due an early present even if he'd have to pay for it later. Probably for ever.

Alex put on her most winsome face and was suddenly very close to him. 'Is there anything I can do to make it up to you, Guv?'

He glared at her, almost his height in her ludicrous heels, and appeared to give it some consideration. Behind the stone face, his mind was a slow-motion bomb blast, the image of Alex Drake making it up to him blowing every sensible thought out of his head. He sniffed. 'Doubt it. I'm very hurt. Disappointed. Wounded.'

'Can't have that, Guv, can we? Not at Christmas…' Smoky eyes, husky voice, her finger stroking his palm.

_Holy flaming hellfire_. He wondered what would happen if he dragged her down to the floor where they stood.

'Aha – there you are.' Mrs Marsden. 'Look what I found…' She waved a sprig of mistletoe at them as the Chief Super rolled up looking more than slightly pissed. 'Look away, Adam,' said his better half. And before anyone could move, she flung her arms around Gene's neck and kissed him. Not a decorous Christmas-kiss-for-the-loyal-soldier sort of kiss either. This was a full-on smackeroo, with sound effects, and it seemed like half a year before she left him go. 'Hah. Congratulations, Gene, you marvellous man. Happy Christmas.'

Dazed, and completely ignorant of the social niceties, Gene played safe. 'Happy Christmas to you too, Mrs M.' To his horror, he saw the Chief Super twitch the mistletoe from his wife's hand and advance on Alex, but she seemed perfectly happy to be mauled enthusiastically by Marsden.

Eventually she was released, but they were not free yet. Marsden waved the mistletoe over Alex again. 'Come on, Gene, show willing.' Gene leant over and kissed her cheek. 'For god's sake, Hunt. Are you made of stone? The woman's the belle of the ball. Surely you can do better than that.' The Marsdens were grinning at them and clearly had no intention of letting them off the hook without a public display of affection. _If we'd been a bit quicker Bolly would have been displaying something seriously affecting in private by now._

Gene squared up to his DI and took her in his arms. 'Orders is orders, Detective Inspector.'

'Yessir, Guv.' Alex was grinning as she wound her arms round his neck.

'Bolly… so forward,' Gene murmured to her, managing to keep the smile off his face but not out of his eyes. He touched his mouth to hers, no more than a soft caress. She was having none of it, and pulled his head to hers, kissing him ardently, wickedly flicking her tongue against his lips, daring him to respond. But under the scrutiny of the Chief Super, Gene was sober enough, just, to resist temptation. He might as well have given in to it; out of the corner of his eye Gene caught the Marsdens exchanging knowing looks, and Mrs M mouthing 'Told you so.'

He pretended he'd seen nothing, and gave his DI a friendly smile. 'Happy Christmas, Bolls.'

'Hope Santa makes all your wishes come true, Gene.'

'Come and dance. Want to show you off, my dear.' Marsden had his arm round Alex, and bore her off, leaving Gene little choice but to offer his arm to Mrs M.

'Thought you'd never ask, Gene. Come on, let's show my husband what's what.'

But the Marsdens' ambitions were thwarted when a perfectly dressed young man accosted them in the nicest possible way. 'Ladies, gentlemen, excuse me. The Duke and Duchess would like to dance with your award-winners.' He took Alex and Gene to one side and advised them on the etiquette of taking royally to the floor, and then they were each hand to ducal hand and stepping out into a decorous foxtrot. Once that was over, Gene turned to snaffle Alex for himself. _In my arms, at least, if not naked and moaning_. Just that thought was enough to make everything twitch. But he was too late. She'd already been whisked off by some lantern-jawed military type, and Minty Gallo was bearing down on him. And so it continued. He could understand why Alex was in such demand, but why these bloody women kept pestering him for dances was beyond him. _Maybe Bolly was right. The upper classes like a bit of rough._ _Some of them are sexy pieces, mind. If Alex wasn't here…_ But he stopped himself in mid-thought. No substitutes would do.

Eventually he ran out of women confident enough to ask him to dance, and he was watching Alex in the greedy grasp of some bastard with more money than sense, flying round the dance floor as though she didn't need feet. Suddenly Alex turned her head and met his eyes for a moment, holding his gaze until she was swept into a turn. But for a couple of minutes she kept finding his eyes whenever the dance allowed her. He couldn't resist the pull, and as the dance came to an end he was at her side, hand taking hers, their fingers interlaced.

'I'm so sorry, Mr Hunt, but do you mind if I have a quick word with Ms Drake?' The man had a professional charm button and it was turned up to full volume, but Gene was immune. 'In a minute, chum. In about four minutes, to be precise. We'll come and find you after the next dance.'

But the bastard didn't take the hint. 'Alex, may I have a word? I really have to go, but I'm very keen to speak to you before I leave. My name's Holdaway; I work for UNESCO and I think you could be a real asset to us.' He beamed at Alex, expecting her instant capitulation. So he looked faintly shocked when she excused herself.

'Mr Holdaway, I'd love to talk to you, but can I ring you in the morning to arrange a time? Do you have a card?'

Gene squeezed her hand, grateful beyond measure that she'd chosen him over the smoothie, and felt even better when she squeezed back. But the warm squishy feeling under his ribs was soon doused when Fancypants filmstar lobbed up. 'Alex…' His voice was like molasses poured over raw diamonds. _Bastard_.

'You know I do a lot with UNESCO? You're just what we need. Let's go and have a quick chat before Paddy here has to shoot off. He's due at No.10 for a late meeting, and if you agree he could mention your name…'

Alex was mesmerised and drifted away with the toothy show-off, with no more than a glance over her shoulder at Gene.

_Right. Time to get royally plastered._ He nodded at a waiter and ordered a very large scotch, and when it came, sank it in two gulps before ordering another. He'd have that and bugger off home. _No point waiting for Alex now. She's just been whisked right out of my reach. Film stars. UNESCO. No.10. Shit… But why should I go? I could have a bit of fun with some of the Sloane slappers who'd been batting their eyelashes at me. Why the fuck not? Alex has made her choice so stuff her. Fancypants will before the night is over. Fuckfuckfuckfuck._ Between the star, the Duke, the Marsdens and Nerissa Desperate, he'd been thwarted of what seemed a shoo-in for a bit of long-awaited nookie. _Christ, it's not much to ask of a Christmas party, is it? Bit of leg-over with the office floozy?_

The waiter delivered the next glass of Islay oblivion, but Gene didn't drink it immediately. Sat staring down into it, seeing Alex's smile reflected back at him. _Wonderful smile. Don't see it very often._ He'd never seen it directed at him before that night. Made things inside him melt, and other things twitch. Looked up and saw her smiling her rare smile at Fancypants. _Figures. He's out to charm her, and it's working. Why wouldn't it? He's looking at her like she's the only woman in the world, the most fascinating creature in existence. Like he'd cease to exist if she took her eyes off him. He's showering her in compliments. Asking for her opinion. Telling her how clever she is. And she is. Smart as hell. Which is all I ever give her._ He ground his teeth in rage at his own stupidity. _Time to quit, Gene_. _You had your chance and you've lost it. She was high as a kite on champagne and praise, and she was yours for the taking. And now you've let her walk away. _

He threw back his scotch and got to his feet. _Get your coat. You haven't pulled_. As he passed his table, Andrew Gallo called to him. 'Gene! Come and have a drink with us.'

He smiled at them. _Nice people. Nice family_. 'Thanks, Andrew. Heading off now. Got an early start in the morning.'

Minty leapt to her feet and dodged round her husband's chair, latching on to Gene's arm. 'You can't possibly go yet – I want another dance, for starters – and we haven't had a chance to talk to you all night. The kids were green with envy when they heard you were the star guest tonight – they're longing to see you.

Gene smiled. _Nice kids_. 'Bring 'em down to the station. I'll show them round and I'll take them out on a shout.' Andrew couldn't help the hint of a frown. 'We'll set it up. Whizz about a bit in the Quattro and arrest Ray for cattle rustling or something.'

'Sounds perfect.'

'Right. Must get off.' He kissed Minty and shook Andrew's hand.

'But what about Alex?'

Andrew tried to shut her up, but was ignored.

'What about Alex?' Gene tried for nonchalant.

'Aren't you…'

'She's having the time of her life, look. The Chief Super'll take her home. If he can fight off all the other candidates.' He forced a smile on to his face, but his own words sliced him like a paper cut.

Minty tried another tactic. 'Why don't you bring Alex round for supper one night, or Sunday lunch? Her daughter's about the same age as Lucilla so she'll speak her language.'

Gene struggled for an answer, but was saved by a loud shriek behind him. It was Nerissa Blomfield.

Minty was not amused. 'For god's sake. That woman's been pissed all night. Why on earth was she invited?'

Mrs Desperate's behaviour was now beyond a joke; she was worse than paralytic. Gene sympathised, having been in similar states once or twice. _If only she'd pass out she could be quietly comatose under a coat somewhere_. But she was still on her feet and making embarrassing overtures to any man she could reach. There was no reason why he should be bothered with her but no-one else was volunteering and she needed help. He made his way across the room to her, pulling her gently off some bloke with thick specs and a moustache. 'Nerissa, come with me, love.'

'Do you bloody mind? Who… Oh… _Gene_. She giggled, and subsided into Gene's arms. He hooked a foot under a chair leg and pulled it closer, letting Nerissa sink on to it. Gene squatted at her side.

'I think it's time to go home, love, don't you?'

'Your place or mine?' She shrieked with laughter and started playing with his hair.

'You stay here. I'll go and find your husband.'

'Don't want that shit. Want you.'

He didn't respond, but went in search of Blomfield; he was pointed at a heavy bloke sitting with his arm round a simpering blonde with a reading age of seven; Blomfield's fleshy face was sweating, his neck flowing over his collar and his thick dark hair plastered to his forehead.

Gene stood over him. 'Mr Blomfield.'

The man ignored him. Gene disliked being ignored, and he repeated the man's name, kicking his chair leg for emphasis. 'Oi.'

The man looked up, furious. 'It's Sir Bob to you, and I don't appreciate being interrupted.'

'Tough shit, sunshine. Time to leave. Your wife needs you to take her home.'

'I'm not taking that drunken bitch anywhere. You want her, be my guest.'

Applying the heel of his hand to the man's meaty shoulder, Gene slammed him back against his chair and bent down, pushing his nose within inches of Blomfield's face and hissed at him. 'I don't think you understand, your worshipful shittiness. Put the little tart down and take Lady Nerissa home. Now.'

'You're a rozzer, aren't you? You see her home, sergeant. Isn't that what we pay you for?'

Gene straightened. 'You're pissed enough to forget this conversation. I'm pissed, but I'll remember. I have a long memory, _Mister_ Blomfield.' He went back to Nerissa, who had found a new target for her affections. Gene looked round for Alex – she was being whirled round the floor by Fancypants and wasn't going to miss him. He took Nerissa in a firm grip and steered her out of the room; found their coats and got them out of the building. Nerissa remembered where she lived, at least; and the frosty air began to sober her up pretty fast, so she only fell over once on the way back to Munster Square. When he tried to leave her at her door, however, she burst into tears.

'Don't leave me, Gene, please. I'm frightened.'

'You're home now, Nerissa. Safe.'

'Not safe. He'll be back and I won't be safe. Never safe here.' She seemed to be genuinely scared, and Gene couldn't in all conscience abandon her.

He thought about Alex, and sighed.

The housekeeper opened the front door to them, then went to fetch Madam a cup of camomile tea. Nerissa, clutching on to Gene's arm, started telling him a tale of alcohol and violence. Same old domestic tragedy. _Makes no odds whether it's a council house in Heaton Park or a Regency mansion. The rich are as pathetic and miserable as the rest of us, just miserable in luxury._

Once Nerissa had calmed down and let herself be helped to bed by the housekeeper, Gene found himself walking back to Lyonesse House instead of down to the Euston Road for a taxi. He'd nip in and let Alex and the Chief Super know he was going. Only polite. _Make sure Alex is okay_. He hated the thought of her with that… _You selfish bastard. Be generous, for once in your miserable life. He's a big film star. Charming. Good looking, rich, influential, and terminally bloody nice. It's her night. My award was for doing my job; hers actually means something. Now she's getting the attention she deserves. This is a brilliant opportunity for her. Just because you didn't get your end away… And she's not a floozy. You know perfectly well she's not. _His spies had never got a sniff of male company after Blond Braces last summer. Not a sniff, for all the women's lib chatter and the flirtatious behaviour. Except maybe Evan White, but Alex seemed to treat him more like an older brother than a lover.

The place was still heaving when he got back, and without taking his coat off he shoved his head round the door quickly. Spotted Alex dancing with Guess Who, gazing into his eyes. _Don't interrupt. Let her have her night of stardom_. The Chief Super was wrapped in a friendly fashion round a redhead, shuffling happily round the dance floor. Mrs Marsden was chatting up a nice young man, but dropped him like a brick when she caught sight of Gene.

'Gene, dear – where have you been? I thought for a nasty moment you'd left.' She was well away and her powers of perception dimmed somewhat, so there was a time lag before she realised how he was dressed. 'Why've you got your coat on?'

'Going to head off, Mrs. M. Just wanted to say goodnight to you and the Chief Super, and to thank you.' Without giving her a chance to argue, Gene kissed her cheek, and left.

He'd meant to walk away, get a cab, go home. But his feet wouldn't take him further than the top of the steps. So much for unselfish intentions. Propped against a pillar listening to the muted roar of traffic outside the park and watching his breath plume in the icy air, he'd lost much of the feeling in his ears and his feet and had smoked several fags by the time Alex emerged on the arm of the bastard film star. _Smarmy git_. Gene longed to push his gleaming teeth down his tanned throat, but kept his face in neutral as he pushed himself away from the pillar and strolled up to them. 'Ready for home, Bolls?' Found he couldn't let her go without a fight after all.

She looked surprised to see him. Maybe even pleased. The smile was there again, and aimed at him. 'Gene… I thought you'd left. Saw you go off with Lady…'

'Walked her home, poor cow. She was in a bad way.'

Fancypants drew Alex closer to him. 'My car's just here, darling.'

She smiled at him but resisted his pull. 'It's sweet of you, Roger, but it's horribly out of your way.' She pulled her arm gently from his grasp and kissed his cheek.

_Christ. I don't believe it. She's ditching him._

'You sure I can't…?'

'DCI Hunt will see me home. Night, Roger.'

The star sighed with a little pantomime of regret. 'Ah, well.' He stretched his hand out to shake Gene's hand. 'Congratulations to you both. My father was a copper, you know. Good to see your efforts recognised.' With a flash of the famous smile, he left.

'I wanted a dance with you.' Alex was standing close enough for him to smell her scent; it was having a predictable effect on him; suddenly all his frozen bits were thawing.

'Queue was too long.'

'You'd have had a VIP pass.'

He smiled at that, but paused for an instant. 'Would you have gone off with him if I'd not been here?'

'No, Gene, of course not. He hadn't suggested it until he saw you.'

'But if he had, you would.'

'_No_... I saw you leave, and the Marsdens are going to dance the night away, so I was going to get a cab and go home.' She paused for an instant, frowning. 'Why didn't you say goodnight?'

'It was a bit stuffy in there, and you were busy.'

'I was only dancing with Roger.'

'He's very charming.'

'He is. Very attractive. Amusing. Delicious.'

'All right, I get the message. There's still time to catch him.'

She gave him a little half-smile. 'He bought me a glass of very expensive cognac after dinner. I know it was expensive because he told me.'

'Was it good?'

'Smooth, distinguished, very heady. Lovely to sip once in a blue moon. But given a choice I'd have a single malt. Strong, smoky, hints of honey. Complex. A rare treat every day.'

They stood in silence for a moment, gazing at each other. Gene, who was finding it hard to breathe, nodded in the direction of the queue of taxis parked along the Outer Circle. 'Shall we?'

'In a minute. Want to clear my head. Walk with me?' She held her hand out to him.

_I'd walk with you to the moon and back if you asked me_. He took her hand and drew it through his arm; they drifted across the road to the edge of the park and wandered along a path between skeletal trees.

'Enjoy your night, Bolls?'

'Yes, apart from nearly dying of fright when my name was called from the stage.' She chuckled 'I must have looked a picture.'

'Oh, you did that, Bolls.' He huffed with amusement. 'Pretty good speech, off the cuff.' He sniffed. 'That bit about your bosses. For Marsden's benefit, I suppose.'

'And yours.'

He gave her a sharp look, but she seemed to mean it. He let go of her just long enough to put his arm round her shoulder, and felt his whole body tingle when her arm went round his waist.

She gave him a little squeeze. 'At least you knew you were getting an award. Marsden didn't give me the slightest hint. I thought I was coming to cheer for you.'

'Why didn't you say you'd been invited? I might have looked forward to it then.'

'Why didn't you tell anyone you were up for the award?'

He looked off into the darkness. 'Bloody fuss about nothing.'

Alex stopped and pulled him round. 'How can you say that? Listening to the kids, and seeing the news footage of you coming out of the house with them. Made me cry, Gene. Not to mention what Andrew and Minty told me. And what you said on stage. You were brilliant. And so _cool_. As though you made speeches to VIPs every week. I was so proud of you… I _am_ so proud of you.'

He was about to argue, but she put a hand on his shoulder, leaned against him and kissed the corner of his mouth; everything left his head and went south at the touch of her lips. Her scent, the warmth of her body against his, the weight of her hand on his shoulder… He was going to burst into flames if he didn't hold her. Kiss her. 'Bolls…' The low murmur made her look at him, meet his eyes. He heard her sigh, and the tiny sound was enough to break the last thread of control. His arms were around her, pulling her close; he felt her hands behind his head, fingers in his hair, heard her voice breathing his name. And then the touch of her mouth on his as they surrendered to each other at long last, her lips parting at the flick of his tongue, sighing into his mouth, her taste intoxicating him. He ached to taste all of her, her mouth offering him glimpses of a heaven promised by her kisses.

At the sound of laughter they broke apart; a couple walking past hand in hand gave them the thumbs up. Only then did they realise it was snowing; big fat flakes falling silently, dusting them with crystals. Alex chuckled breathlessly and looked at him, her eyes glowing in the lamplight, hands sliding into his. 'Gene… we can stay here if you want, but my flat's a whole lot warmer. Bed's a whole lot softer…'

He groaned and took her back into his arms, grabbing her hips and pulling her close, hissing in torment as she rubbed against him. 'You've no idea... Wanted you so much. _Alex_…' He poured the months of aching desire into his kiss, finding all the passion in her response that he'd dreamed of.

'Take me home, Gene. Take me home and show me what you want.'

The husky voice zinged straight through him, frying his brain, heating his blood. Breathless, his heart racing, he leaned his forehead against hers, dragging lungfuls of air into his body, trying to pull himself together. Pulling her coat around her, he dusted the snow from her hair before lifting the soft velvet hood over her head. 'Beautiful. My lovely Alex…' _Keep it light, Gene. Keep your dreams to yourself._

In the taxi, she was shivering. 'I think my feet have fallen off.'

Gene pulled off her shoes and lifted her black-stockinged feet into his lap, rubbing the icy flesh back to life. They said nothing but stared at each other in the pulsing light as the taxi sped through Bloomsbury and Holborn, down through the City; Gene's fingers rubbing and stroking her feet, squeezing her toes, pushing up under the hem of her dress to massage her legs. _Stockings, or tights?_ Aching to find out, his hand slid over her knee and on up. Alex pushed her right foot gently between his legs, wiggling her toes northwards till he felt them tease his erection. He clenched his teeth, able to stand it for a few seconds before he had to abandon his search and move her foot; her smile sent liquid fire through his balls.

He carried her from the taxi across the snowy pavement to the front door, then chased her upstairs. Breathless, gasping with laughter, they piled through the door to her flat, stumbling in and falling in a tangle on to the sofa, panting noisily. She dug him in the ribs with her elbow. 'By the way – you owe me a tenner.'

'Do not.'

'Damn well do. You had a long string of beautiful women in your arms.'

'Not beautiful by your definition, Bolls.'

'What? By any definition, you were dancing with some real beauties, including the Duchess, for god's sake.'

'Don't want to take her to bed. Didn't want any of them.'

'The Gene Genie? Oh, come _on_…'

'Only want one woman in my bed, and I never got to dance with her.'

She looked at him then, and he saw something in her eyes that made his heart miss a beat. She smiled up at him. 'There's music here. And a floor. And a willing woman. Will I do?'

He stroked her face, undid the fastenings of the velvet coat and pushed it from her shoulders. 'You'll do. Oh, you'll do.'

She found a single and put it on the turntable as he shrugged off his heavy coat. Sweet and slow, the music pulled him to her and she was in his arms, eyes melting into his, the sweet smile on her lips, her hands sliding round him.

'_You got cool water when the fever runs high._

_You've got the look of lovelight in your eye…'_

His head to hers, Gene breathed in the scent of her skin, her hair; feminine, familiar, sensuous, it had much the same effect on him as champagne and before the first chorus he was drunk on her, light-headed and tingling.

'_When something goes right, it's likely to lose me. _

_It's apt to confuse me, because it's such an unusual sight…'_

He stroked his fingers through her hair, pushing it back from her face and gazing deep into her eyes, looking for answers. 'What's a girl like you doing here with me? You should be living the high life, up with the jet set, Pussy Galore to old Double-Oh-Eck.'

'Gene…' She looked at him, eyes black with desire. 'You're what I want.' She touched her fingertips lightly to his mouth, tracing over his lips as though she were learning him by heart. 'No-one else. No-one.'

'Bolls….' He kissed her with a tenderness he hadn't felt for many years, if ever; yearned to tell her everything he felt for her, pour out his heart; wrap her in his dreams and hold her for ever.

Pushing his tailcoat off his shoulders and chucking it on to the sofa, she tugged the ends of his bowtie but left it dangling as she undid the collar stud and the first few buttons of the starched dress shirt. When Gene tried to help, she pushed his hands away. 'Let me do this.'

'Not sure I'll survive it. Might come apart at the seams.'

She put her lips to his ear and whispered. 'You look so shaggable. Want you like this. Wanted you all night.'

'You want to shag my penguin suit... I think that's against the law, Bolls.'

'I want you in a boiler suit, in uniform, in a chicken costume – any way I can get you. But first, I want you in these sexy, elegant, decadent clothes.' She was removing his cufflinks, rolling up his shirtsleeves.

He wondered how many seconds he had left before he died of excitement. The touch of her fingers on his arms was mindbendingly sensual, and although it was killing him, he couldn't move for fear of distracting her from her task.

She undid the buttons of his waistcoat, and giggled as she twanged the braces hidden underneath it.

'Minx.' Gene reached for her, but she pushed his hands away again, shaking her head. He shuddered as she opened her mouth and licked her bottom lip, staring at him; she leaned forward and licked the hollow at the base of his throat, an act so erotic he dropped his head back, eyes shut, groaning with the exquisite pleasure of her touch. She was pulling his shirt apart so she could kiss his chest, purring with pleasure as her lips explored his skin, tasting him with little flicks of her tongue until he was panting, dizzy with lust. 'Alex… I…'

'Shhhh…' Her hands slid over his body, finding his arse, squeezing, pulling his hips against hers for a moment, before her hands moved to his fly, stroking his erection through the fabric before releasing him, murmuring at his size, her touch driving him insane.

He stroked her naked shoulders, then unable to control himself any longer, snatched her into his arms, holding her body tight to his, groaning as he pushed at her, kissing her mouth, her neck, her shoulder, grazing her flesh with his teeth, tasting her in hot open-mouthed kisses, his hands at her dress, sliding the zip down to the small of her back, ripping open the tiny hook at the top so the fabric fell away from her. He stepped back to look at her and felt every nerve in his body catch fire, his heart almost bursting from his chest. 'Oh, Christ, Alex…'

_xxxxxxxxxxx_

_Final, final (promise) chapter to, er, come. Almost immediately. Kept going longer than expected. Stamina, you know._


	3. Santa's bag

_NB: Hard-core fluff. Not for the emotionally squeamish. Unbeta'd as I haven't given Wombledon time. So anything below par plus all mistakes are mine, all mine._

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Naked but for stockings and knickers, her skin rosy with desire, she stepped out of the eddy of emerald silk around her feet and reached out to him, his every fantasy coming true. 'Touch me, Gene, please…'

One hand smoothing over her back, feeling the silk of her skin beneath his fingers, he touched her breast, air hissing through his teeth as he fought to keep it slow, stretch the moment of discovery, his head full of the sounds in her throat, the scent of her.

'Gene, oh god, _Gene_… _I want you_. _Please_...'

He bent his head and took her breast into his mouth, making her gasp as he teased her to the edge of control. He dropped to his knees, thrusting his tongue into her belly button as she pushed her fingers through his hair, muttering his name over and over again, urging him on.

He kissed her stomach as his hands stroked over her bottom and her long, long legs; he pressed his mouth against the triangle of black lace, the scent of her pushing everything out of his head but his overwhelming desire. He could hear her moaning, felt her hands on his head, his shoulders, fingers digging into him in her excitement. He hooked his thumbs into her knickers and slid them down, felt her hands on his shoulders, steadying herself as she stepped out of them. He kissed her curls, breathing her in before tasting her, the touch of his tongue making her cry out, her knees trembling as he drove her to the edge, mewling and gasping, shaking violently, standing only with the support of Gene's hands at her hips, her hands in his hair.

'God, oh… god… I… ahh… oh fuck, Gene…' She was mindless, beyond control, lost in the spiralling tension as she came, her legs buckling, falling on to him. He held her tight, then got to his feet, tipping her over his shoulder and carrying her panting with laughter through to the bedroom and letting her fall to the bed, an erotic fantasy in stockings and heels, eyes glazed with ecstasy, bruised lips parted in a blissed-out smile, body flushed and helpless, open to him, glistening, hot… His.

Shaking with lust, he knelt over her, drinking in the sight of her, the scent of her. 'Jesus, Alex, you're so beautiful. Can't… hold…' And he was on her, plunging into her, buried in the hot wet depths of her, feeling her convulse around him, making him grunt with the effort of holding back, trying to get control before he started to thrust; slow, deep, making her whimper.

A wicked smile spread slowly over her face. 'This is what Ginger was thinking about when she was doing the Continental with Fred…'

'Putting on the Ritz…' He thrust into her again, unbearably aroused.

'Cheek to cheek…'

She wrapped her legs around his hips, her eyes all over him, black with lust. 'I'm being tupped by the Squire of Fenchurch East…' She put her hands to his head, framing his face. 'Oh, god, Gene, I'll never look at you again without seeing you like this, in your white tie and in me…' She kissed him passionately, then gasped as he thrust hard, burying himself so deep he felt locked in to her, connected to her like no woman he'd known. _Christ, Alex, I love you_. He wondered if she could read his mind, see it in his eyes. Wondered if he could ever say it…

The words stopped and thought dissolved as her body drew him in, harder, deeper, faster, driving each other on, groaning, gasping, only heat and friction and hands and mouths and hot damp flesh until he felt her come, bucking and moaning, her head flung back, yelling his name; at last he could let go, felt himself climb to the brink, see the vast dark and with her name on his lips, launch himself over, and over, and over…

When he came to, he was on his back, heaving breath into his lungs, with Alex's head on his chest, pressing soft kisses on his skin. 'Christ, Bolls… You…'

'You too…' She lifted her head and smiled at him. 'Thought it'd be good, but I had no idea. No idea…' She stroked his face. 'Hey, you're still all dressed up, with nowhere to go.'

He laughed. 'Had somewhere to come, though.'

She chuckled, and kissed his chin.

He started to undo a button, but Alex pushed his hands away. 'You're exhausted, sir. Just lie there and I'll be your gentleman's… er… gentlewoman.'

'As long as you're gentle. I'm a delicate flower.'

'Sshhh, I'm busy.' She undid his shirt, and sat him up long enough to push waistcoat, braces and shirt off his shoulders, pulling sleeves from his arms and flinging white garments to the floor. She wriggled backwards off the bed and removed his shoes, muttering to herself.

'What'd you say, Bolls?'

'I said how much nicer these looked than your snaky cowboy boots.'

'These black things are uncomfortable and very dull.'

'They're not dull – you've got a very nice polish on them.'

'Lay off my footwear, Bolly. A man's boots are sacrosanct.'

She pulled off his socks, and lifted one foot to her mouth, wrapping her lips round his big toe and sucking hard, making him groan.

'Christ. Your mouth should be on the lethal weapons list.'

'What size are your feet?'

'Ten, why?'

'That disproves that theory, then.'

'What?'

'Relative sizes of body parts. Ten is average.'

That took half a second to sink in, but he could feel a smile creeping over his face. 'Thanks, Bolls.'

'Don't look so smug. It's not like you've been clever. You were born with it.' She dragged trousers and pants off in one efficient move, leaving him naked.

'You've still got clothes on, Bolls. Come here.'

She got on the bed and stood up, one foot either side of his hips, hands on her waist. 'Go on then. I dare you.'

He dared. He sat up, running his hands up her legs, over the sheer black stockings, his hands hissing over the nebulous fabric till he reached the tops, halting at the lace edging. He shifted so he was kneeling on the bed in front of her; she didn't budge. He had both hands on her left thigh now, fingers rubbing tiny circles on the lace for a few seconds, before they edged up on to her naked flesh, making her gasp.

'So soft, Bolls. Christ, so…' His head filled with her damp scent, he stroked the satin skin inside her thigh, and there was utter silence, both barely breathing; he felt her hands touch his head, play with his hair gently, encouraging him. He unsnapped the stocking from its suspenders and let it slide down her leg as he shifted his attention to her right thigh, stroking, then unsnapping. Without warning, he pulled at the back of her knees, tipping her forwards, catching her as she collapsed on him, squealing. Flipped her on to her back, pulling off shoes and stockings and flinging them around the room as she laughed with the release of tension.

Gene gathered her into his arms, a leg hooked over hers, so they were touching from head to toe, skin to skin. Sighing with pleasure, he kissed her, loving the feel of her against him. 'Bolls… no more barriers. You feel so good.'

She nuzzled into his neck, wriggling against him, stroking her hand down his body, purring as she felt his muscles tense and release beneath his skin. 'Naked. All this lovely flesh. Mmmmmm.' She stroked his beer belly affectionately. 'Going to kiss every square inch of you, DCI Hunt. _Every_ inch.'

His cock twitched at the promise.

'Gene…'

He pushed her hair back from her face. 'I know…'

She smiled again. 'What do you know?'

He took her earlobe in his teeth and tugged gently. She looked shocked for an instant, eyes widening in alarm.

He smiled at her, watching her blush. 'Angel.'

'Oh, Christ. How did you find out?'

'How could I be so close to you and not know it, Bolls?'

'I was so careful not to give myself away.'

'You couldn't disguise your scent, or the way you move.'

She put her hands over her face to hide her embarrassment. 'Oh, shit. You think I'm a tart anyway. You must have thought I was…'

'Come here.' He pulled her close, held her so she put her head on his chest. 'I know I say it, but I don't think you're a tart, Bolls. I know you're not. What I thought this evening was that I'd died and gone to heaven.'

She kissed his chest, but said nothing.

'What I don't know is why.'

She spoke softly, her head turned away from him. 'I knew you were nervous about the award. You'd been twitchy all day, and when we got there you looked as though you'd spotted the firing squad. And you just got worse through dinner. I thought you were going to walk out at one point. You'd promised Marsden you wouldn't drink; Lady Wotsit was winding you up, and I wasn't close enough to talk to you. Anyway, I don't think there was anything I could have said to make any difference. Didn't think it would go down well for you to be seen smoking a joint, and couldn't get hold of any Valium, although Lady Wotsit probably had some with her, come to think of it. Wanted you to shine; wanted them all to see what a good copper you are, what a rare man.'

'Didn't want me to make a complete tit of myself, Marsden and the Met, you mean.'

She wriggled round so she could look at him, and touched his mouth with one slender finger. 'It's not your favourite pastime, is it? Being in the limelight.'

'So?'

'So I couldn't think of anything else.'

'It was a hell of a solution. Why the mystery, though? I'd have been only too happy…'

'For one thing, I knew you couldn't resist trying to work out who it was, which would distract you a bit longer. And…'

'And, Bolls?' He loved watching her blush. He stroked a hand down her side, through the dip at her waist and up over her hip.

'And it was the only way I could do it. Didn't want you to think I was the sort of woman who'd do that. We weren't… hadn't… '

'Bolly…'

'I know. You did. I am. But only for you. And it worked, didn't it? You were so cool.'

_She's really anxious. Doesn't she realise? _'You deserved the bravery award, not me. Above and beyond, Bolls.' He kissed her hand. 'And yes, it worked. Not only did it make me feel like I wouldn't care if United won every cup this season, but it was the most exciting thing that's happened to me that didn't involve imminent death. Felt amazing. Unbelievable, Bolls. Dream come true.' _You astonishing, generous woman._

She wriggled up a bit so she could kiss his mouth. 'Have you dreamed about me, then?'

'Oh, yes. Mostly I dream about putting you over my knee in the office and smacking your insubordinate arse…'

She giggled. 'But not always?'

'Not always.'

'Tell me.'

'Certainly not. A man's entitled to the privacy of his own head.'

'I'll tell you mine.'

'Dreams about me?'

'Mmm-hmm.' She put the tip of her tongue to his jaw and licked slowly up to his ear.

The signal bypassed his brain and went straight to his balls. His four-minute warning. He pulled her round so she lay against him, and pushed his knee between hers. 'Anyway, Bolls, did you think I'd let any old aristo loose on my crown jewels?'

She frowned at him, puzzled. 'I thought it was every man's fantasy, getting oral sex from a mystery woman.'

'It probably is. Would have been mine a few months ago, but I've been saving myself.'

'Bit late for that, isn't it?'

'Cheek. You're supposed to swoon in gratitude at that sort of admission.'

'I'm already on my back, naked. How much more swooned can one get?'

'You could pretend.'

'Okay, I'll give it a go, but I'm not much of an actress.'

'Don't want anyone near my crown jewels except my Head Beefeater.'

She tried a swooning face for a millisecond, but collapsed in giggles. '_Gene_… you're disgusting.'

'Takes one to know one, Bolls.' Grinning, he kissed her, his hands wandering encouragingly. 'Tell me something.'

'What?'

'Was that the only reason? Saving my reputation?'

She blushed, and gave him a guilty smile. 'No.'

'Do I need to get the thumbscrews out?'

'Wanted you for ages. When you turned up at the flat in that outfit, I thought my knees would give way. Prayed that you'd take my dress off, not do it up.'

He groaned. 'Bolls. You've no idea how hard it was…' She had a very dirty laugh at times, he realised. His cock stirred at the sound. 'That as well. It was only the thought of Marsden coming after me with a shotgun that stopped me from ravishing you on the spot.'

'I spent the whole of dinner thinking about getting you into a locked room somewhere and letting you take advantage of me.'

'So, we have the truth of it.' He pushed her on to her back, holding her hands above her head, his eyes glittering. 'Far from being a generous and selfless act to calm my nerves and save the day, you were just… indulging yourself.'

'No. Promise. Wouldn't have done anything if you hadn't been about to implode. But once I'd got the waiter to write the note and deliver it, I began to enjoy it. Opening that door, my heart was beating so fast… Scared you'd refuse, thought you'd be furious. But your reaction… Christ, Gene, it was so sexy. Had to go and change my knickers. So I took a minute to, er, calm myself down too.' She giggled.

'Bolly!' He was shocked. Deliciously, thrillingly shocked. His cool DI, fantasising about him, and admitting to it. His cock, which had been considering things, sprang to life, eager for her.

She must have felt its revival. 'Fancy another spell in the Tower, then?'

'Only under duress.'

She pulled her hands away and pushed him over, climbing on top of him and grabbing his wrists. 'Like this, you mean?'

'_Mmmm_. You've got me, ossifer.'

'You going to come quietly?'

'Doubt it.'

'You going to struggle?'

'Nope. I'll have no trouble.'

Leaning on his wrists, she put her face tantalisingly close to his, her voice husky and low. 'No need for me to cuff you, then.'

He sucked the breath in through his teeth at the prospect, although the vision of Alex restrained was more appealing. 'I'll be good. If you promise to be bad.'

He propped himself up on his elbows so he could watch Alex work. He could have come at the first touch of her hands; just the sight of her lips parting, the touch of her tongue… He was soon shaking with the effort of holding back, groaning, wanting it to go on for ever, the exquisite sensations, the little sounds of desire she made, the sight of her focused purely on giving him pleasure… Grunting with the effort of control, he reached for her. 'Alex… want to come inside you…'

She crawled over him, straddling his hips, then slid along him, her eyes closed, rapt, rubbing herself on his hot, hard flesh, grunting and moaning as she abandoned herself to pleasure.

Never mind how it felt, it was the most erotic thing he'd ever seen. She was his whole world. Mind, body and soul, he wanted her. Loved her. Let himself fall further. 'Alex…' He muttered her name, touching her breasts, stroking, squeezing, teasing. 'Please, Alex, I'm…'

She opened her eyes, focused on his face, breathless; smiled at him. Lifted her hips, watched him as, slowly, she settled on him, still for a moment as she let him fill her. '_Gene… so…_' She shut her eyes, moaning, convulsing round him. She looked at him again, held his gaze as she started to move, grabbing his hands and bracing herself against him as they began to move together, urgency turning to ecstasy as they drove each other to a noisy climax, bucking and shuddering till Alex collapsed on to his chest, panting, sweaty, her heart pounding, her hair damp against his face.

_Love her so much. Want to tell her_. But the voice of reason stopped him. _You'll spoil things. Give her time, and maybe…_

'_Alex… Bolls…_' He rolled her over and hugged her tight, thankful beyond measure that he had her, desperate to keep her, make her happy. Felt her hug him back, close as two people could get, twined round each other. Exhausted, his heart full, he lay wrapped in her till he fell asleep.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He woke when she rolled over and propped herself up on one elbow. 'Morning, gorgeous.'

'Hello, you.' She bent to kiss him. 'It's Christmas Eve, Gene. Do you want to write a note to Santa?'

He looked up at her, stroking her breast. 'Got my Christmas wish already, Bolls.'

There was the smile again. But it didn't last long. 'Gene?'

'Yes, Bolls.'

'You going up to Manchester for Christmas?'

He sighed. 'No. Not this year.' He saw the smile reappear.

'I'm doing the afternoon shift on Christmas Day… but if you're free, would you like to…'

He leaned forward and kissed her. 'If I had plans, I'd cancel them. Love to, Bolls.'

'You didn't hear what I was going to suggest.'

'Whatever you have in mind is okay by me.'

'Don't know what's going to be left in the shops for Christmas dinner.'

'A can of beer, a round of toast, and you. What more could a man want?'

She laughed.

'What's funny about that?' He was offended. _I try to be romantic, and she laughs_.

She kissed his sulky mouth, still chuckling. 'I was laughing at my luck.'

'No need to be sarcastic.'

She dabbed kisses over his offended face. '_A jug of wine, a loaf of bread, and thou…_' One of the most famous lines of love poetry in the history of the world, Gene. I've got my very own Mancunian Omar Khayyam.

His eyebrows lifted. 'Don't tell me. You liked it so much you bought the company.'

She dropped her face to his chest; laughed and laughed. She lifted her head and wiped a tear from her eye. 'Oh, Gene Hunt, I…' She stopped short.

'You what, Bolls?'

'I don't believe you. You're priceless.' She kissed him tenderly, then she kissed him again, in a rather demanding fashion. Not wanting to upset her, Gene followed her lead, and one thing led to another.

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

Christmas Eve at the station was almost without incident for CID, although uniform were plodding about sorting out drunken brawls and domestics, the odd pickpocket and shoplifter, and one attempted suicide.

Alex was in first as Gene had nipped home for a change of clothes; she was knocked sideways by her reception as soon as she stepped through the front door of the station. If they'd not seen it on the late TV news, they'd read it in the papers. _Met's toothsome twosome steal top awards_ declared the Sun, above photos of Alex with her chum Roger, and Gene with the Duchess. The Mirror had a photo of their DI kissing their DCI under Marsden's mistletoe, which had been blown up on the office photocopier and stuck on the main noticeboard alongside the Sun page. But if the uniform welcome was enthusiastic, the CID reaction was riotous.

'Well, you know, there was a lot of champagne, and the Chief Super insisted as he'd found the mistletoe…' Her attempt at justification met with hoots of laughter and general scepticism, and when Gene pushed through the double doors there was a cheer loud enough to wake the drunks in the cells downstairs.

They were interrogated all morning, about the mistletoe, about the Chief Super, the royals, the celebs, and Ray obsessed over Double-Oh-Seven, wanting to know every detail until Alex lost her patience and snapped at him, threatening to send him off to reinterview a witness from last week's post office blag.

Chris had read a bit in the paper that said Gene had been seen leaving with Lady Nerissa Blomfield, his companion throughout the evening, so Gene was getting grief about that little red herring; he flatly refused to comment, knowing that would divert them from the truth, the acute detectives that they were. But then Poirot piped up with the juicy gossip that he'd seen Gene sneaking out of Luigi's building that morning, still wearing his penguin suit, and the entire team was in pieces, rocking with laughter at the guilty pair getting sussed.

Alex refused to comment. 'There's nothing to tell. Is there, DCI Hunt?' She got a black look from Gene as the team started to chant. 'Confess! Confess!'

He held his hands up for silence, but they weren't to be hushed. 'Oi!' He gave in to irritation and yelled at them.

They hushed, agog for the explanation.

'Not that it's any of your bloody business, and not that I care what your scabby little brains are cooking up about my off-duty activities, but for the sake of DI Drake, who acted like a Samaritan last night and is not to be smeared by your smutty accusations, I will tell you the sad truth.'

In the moment of utter silence, Gene could hear his arteries hardening. _Don't need this. Nosy sods. Why can't they be this acute when they're actually working?_ 'I took Lady Nerissa home because she was unwell, and her bastard husband was otherwise engaged. Once she was in the care of her housekeeper, I returned to the party, and my moment in the spotlight over, I felt I could relax and enjoy the evening. So while DI Drake was discussing her possible role as a new UNESCO ambassador…' He paused to let the news sink in, with a gratifying murmur of surprise from the impressed coppers. 'I was getting regally pissed in the company of the Chief Super, his lovely wife, and an assortment of charming young ladies.'

Growls of testosterone-fuelled approval from the audience.

'Unfortunately, not being much of a drinker as you know...' Guffaws. '… I rather overdid things, and overcome by the bonhomie and friendliness of the company, ended up completely legless. Something that has never happened to me before.' More guffaws. 'I am told that rather than sending me off to a dubious fate in the hands of a London cabbie, Chief Superintendent Marsden persuaded DI Drake to lease me her sofa for the remainder of the night. I remember nothing of this, but can attest to waking, late for work and rather tired, in DI Drake's flat this morning, and having to go home to find a clean shirt and a new brain. All very embarrassing, especially for DI Drake, whose kindness and hospitality has been misunderstood by you tragic turnips.'

As one, they all looked at Alex, who had a suitably embarrassed expression on her face.

'I trust this will go no further than this room.' Gene knew that would guarantee the damage limitation story would whizz round the station faster than Ray got his hands on a new bird's tits.

'Right. Find some work to do. I don't care if it's nearly Christmas. Until Santa's bells start ringing, you're _my_ little helpers, so put your pointy ears away and _get to work_.'

A muted chorus of Yes Guvs didn't disguise the sly grins, but they got their heads down, mostly over crosswords and the intellectual content of Page Three.

Gene and Alex got a minute to themselves in the kitchen at elevenses, but knew that every move was scrutinised, and all ears out on stalks.

Noisily stirring his tea, Gene kept his voice down. 'Do you think they believed it?'

'You were very convincing. And you only told three actual lies. But if we're more than four minutes alone in here, all your efforts will go for naught.'

'Think you're right. Go on then – you bugger off and see what festive fare you can scavenge, and I'll nip up and see Marsden. Luckily he _was_ legless, so won't remember a dicky bird. I'll tell him what happened. Just so he knows.' He risked a quick kiss, and sauntered back out with his tea, stuffing a Garibaldi in his mouth as he went.

They weren't long in Luigi's that night. Those with families headed home for Christmas rituals, and the footloose were planning a festive pub crawl. Gene, with the key to Alex's flat in his pocket, headed off first, driving off with a flourish, only to turn round the back of the building and park in the shadows. He dropped into Benny's Pizzas, ordering and paying for two ten-inchers, telling Benny that Alex would be in to collect them; then he sneaked back to Luigi's and nipped upstairs without being spotted.

He had the wine open and the first glass down his neck by the time Alex appeared with pizza boxes and a wide smile. _Coming home to me. Want this every day. How can I let her go now?_

She sat on his knee and they fed each other bits of pizza till the hunger for each other got too strong to be ignored, and he carried her to bed and undressed her. Sweet and tender, they made love to each other with barely a word spoken, soft sounds of desire and pleasure on their lips as they took each other to a slow, intense completion that brought tears to Gene's eyes. In twenty four hours she'd taken him to places he'd never known existed, pulled feelings from him he didn't know he was capable of, and the thought that he might not be able to keep her terrified him. He kissed her, his heart bursting. 'Alex…'

She stroked his face, her eyes shining. 'Sshhh. Sleep now. When we wake up it'll be Christmas. Special day. Magical day. Make a wish, Gene.' She kissed him softly, and put her head on his chest; within a couple of minutes he could feel her fall asleep, her body relaxing and her breathing deepen. _Love you, Alex. Love you_.

They slept like children, tired out and happy, and woke together; she stretched like a cat and collapsed back on the pillow, her face open, smiling for him, lovely. He couldn't help grinning at her, his body deliciously heavy from deep sleep, remembering the sweetness of their night, thinking of the day ahead. 'Happy Christmas, Bolls.'

She feathered kisses across his face before putting her lips to his ear, murmuring. 'Happy Christmas, you.'

He felt her hand snake down his body and find a ready welcome.

She grinned, and tickled him. 'I see someone's up early.' She threw back the duvet and scrambled out of bed, looking back at him as she sashayed naked out of the room. 'Last one in the shower's a damp squib….' She squealed and ran as he dived out of bed after her, growling.

They didn't get much done that morning; eating breakfast only convinced them that they needed to go back to bed, and Alex made it into work at noon because she had a seventeen-second commute. Gene had assured her that he could manage to get Christmas dinner on the go, so she left him to it.

As soon as he saw her go into the station, he was on the phone to Solly Silver. 'Coast's clear, Solly. Buzz Flat 2 and I'll come down and let you in.'

'All right, Mr Hunt. But I've got to be quick. The wife's kicking off something rotten. Says I shouldn't be working today. Shabat _and_ Christmas Day…'

'You old fraud. Sabbath doesn't start for a few hours yet, and you don't celebrate Christmas.'

'I may not, but she does. Well, not exactly celebrate, but she says she's buggered if the goyim get all the fun. So we get to eat kosher turkey and trimmings. Women. You married, Mr Hunt?'

'Not any more, Solly.'

'Lucky man.'

Waiting for Solly to turn up, Gene stared into space, wondering. Lucky? Thought about his ex-wife. _Marriage. Can't all be disasters_. Tried not to think about being married to Alex. Then couldn't think about anything else.

The buzzer broke into his thoughts, and he went to let Solly in. They dragged everything upstairs and Solly gave him instructions as though he'd never done this before. Although come to think of it, he hadn't really. His wife had been in charge when they'd bothered, back in the early days. Solly pocketed the notes Gene handed him and left, wishing him all the best.

Radio Two was playing Christmassy music, and Gene hummed and sang as he worked, realising with a warm glowy feeling that he couldn't remember actually enjoying Christmas since he was a small boy. Not like this, with someone to do it for, looking forward to her coming home, hoping she'd like it. Hoping she'd love it. Love him. _Don't be so soft. She might be in love but it's physical. She's not going to want you once she's got you out of her system. So enjoy it while it lasts. Be good to her and it might last for quite a while. Give her a Christmas to remember_.

He'd locked the front door in case she walked in unannounced, so there was a hammering and a shouting at ten past five. He opened the door and pulled her into his arms for a kiss. Partly to shut her up, but mostly because he could.

'Now, Bolly, shut your eyes.' He put his hands over her eyes and guided her into the sitting room.

'Something smells wonderful. I'm starving.'

'In a minute, Bolls. First…' He took his hands away and moved so he could see her face.

She gasped. 'Gene…' She put her hands over her mouth in shocked delight. He watched as she looked round the room, taking it in. The Christmas tree, the soft glow of hundreds of fairy lights, the table set for two, with red roses in a nest of ivy.

She turned to him, a shaky smile on her lips. 'Thank you…' She whispered, reaching for him.

'Happy Christmas, love.' He hugged her tight, held her so he could feel her heart banging against her ribs, wondered if she could feel his thudding away. 'Alex…' He kissed her neck, tugged at her earlobe and made her giggle. Kissed his way slowly to her mouth; tasted her, felt her tease, nip at him. He kissed her hard, then pulled away. 'You're a minx and a temptress but there's food to be eaten and a bottle in the fridge. Away with you, woman. Go and change.'

'How did you do it? I want to know.'

'This is what Gene Genies do best.'

She looked at him, eyebrows on full.

He sighed. 'Solly Silver, the kosher Christmas fairy. He's a window dresser at Selfridges. Knows about these things. Said tinsel's for kids; women like lights. Was he right?'

'It's beautiful. Couldn't have imagined this place looking so wonderful. Did he do it all this afternoon?'

'He brought the stuff round as soon as you left, and I put it up as per his instructions.'

'Interior décor _and_ cooking? You sure you're not gay?'

He roared at her and chased her out of the room. Watched her skitter into the bedroom, squeaking. It felt good, making her happy. Seeing her face, feeling her heart thumping. He'd forgotten for a long time what it was like, to feel so much for someone. The day she arrived he wanted her, but over the months the feelings had grown. Changed. Deepened. _God help me, I love her_.

He went back to the kitchen, put the smoked salmon on two plates with chunks of lemon, and took them to the table. Pulled the chicken out of the oven to let it rest, as per his crash course in cooking, aka Shaz Granger's mum on the phone this afternoon. The spuds were perfect, as were the bangers and the little rolls of bacon. _Very neat. Sprouts? Hmm_. He'd put them on too early, so they weren't so hot. _Who cares? They're not proper food anyway_. Bread sauce – packet instructions seemed to work. Gravy – once the chicken was out of the pan, there it was. Just about.

He got the bubbly out of the fridge as he heard Bolly's fairy footsteps on the floorboards, and nearly had a heart attack when he turned around.

Most of what she wearing was white fluff, held together with a bit of red material here and there, but there wasn't much of anything. 'Santa's naughty daughter, as I live and just about breathe. Come here, Bolls, and let me look at you.'

She wiggled over to him like Betty Boop, lips puckered, eyelashes fluttering. She was about an inch taller than him in those outrageous stilettos, and her legs, in fishnets, went on for several miles before disappearing under a frilly red skirt with a white fluffy hem. More fluff round her waist, then a bit more red round her ribs before fluff failed to hide her cleavage. A red and fluff pointy hat perched on her head and fluff wristbands completed the extraordinary outfit.

'Where on earth…'

'Brewer Street. Couldn't resist.' She leaned forward confidingly. 'It's fastened with velcro, so you can rip it off later.'

That sounded very very good. 'What's underneath?'

'You'll have to wait and see.'

'Can't I have a clue?'

'Let your imagination run riot.'

_Oh god._ 'Let's eat, then. Quick, before it gets cold.' _Before I overheat and go off_.

Alex relished the smoked salmon, making appreciative noises as she ate, licking lemon juice off her fingers in a gratuitous fashion, and swigging Bollinger like a PR girl. She sat back, sighing happily, and let Gene clear the plates and dish up the chicken, watching him with her legs spread beneath the table. The glass topped table. Gene started carving. Looked at her. It was the Carry On moment. 'Breast? Or leg?'

She didn't waste it. Licked her lips. 'Thigh. I love a meaty thigh.'

He sliced straight into his finger because he was looking at Alex's legs and not the chicken. 'Ow. Shit.'

'Let me kiss it better.' She held her hand out, leaning forward across the table so he had a perfect view through the fluff to her quivering cleavage. He reached across, the blood welling up from the tiny cut; she took his hand, parted her blood red lips, and took his finger into her mouth, sucking like a vampire.

The cut healed fast; all his blood had rushed south to fuel a gargantuan erection, and he wanted only one thing. 'Come here, Bolls.' She left the table and let him draw her to the centre of the room. 'I can't stand that fluff any longer. It's got to go, Bolls.' He put a hand to the bodice, took a firm grip, and yanked. With a glorious ripping sound, the thing flew apart, and was flung to one side. 'Oh, god…' He felt his already titanic erection grow, and ripped the skirt off. 'Hellfire. There should be a law against this. You'll be the death of me, Bolly.'

He was staring at a vision of black lace with holes in some of the very best places, allowing delectable bits of Alex to peep through invitingly. It was an invitation he couldn't possibly ignore, especially as she was snaking ever closer to him, bending backwards so that her heart-stopping hips brushed against his, and her mind-blowing breasts demanded his full attention.

'_Mmmm_. There's the Yule log…' She linked her hands behind his neck and swayed in front of him, lifting one leg to rub against his, and pouting in a fashion designed to scramble his brain. 'Well, Gene? Breast, or leg?'

xxxxxxxx

They ate their abandoned Christmas dinner like leftovers, ripping bits off the chicken and dipping cold roast spuds into the bread sauce, starving after hard, sweaty sex. Gene had pinned the mistletoe he'd stolen from Mrs Marsden on the bedhead, claiming it gave him Druid powers. 'Winter solstice, Bolls. Pagan rites.'

They'd showered, climbed into sloppy warm clothes and fallen on the food. 'Delicious, Gene. You're promoted to head chef.'

'Best sauce in the world, raging hunger.'

Sated, they fell on to the sofa, arms round each other, sighing with deep satisfaction.

Alex stirred after a few minutes hugging. 'Time to open your presents, Gene.'

'I've opened you. That's all my Christmases come at once, Bolls.'

She smiled. 'Well, there's that bottle-shaped one just there under the tree.'

He crawled over and picked it up, carrying it back to where she was sitting. 'What could this bottle-shaped object be?' He shook it gently, and heard a small sloshing sound. 'A pen. Socks. Tie-pin. Tie?'

'You'll never know unless you open the parcel.'

He ripped off the paper to reveal a bottle of scotch. He read the label, and reared back in surprise. 'This was bottled in 1957. Twenty-year old Lagavulin. Bloody hell, Bolls, this was distilled the year I was born.'

'Bloke in Oddbins said he's not sure how good it is. Old, yes, but might be deeply ordinary. Might be delicious. Only way to know is to drink it.'

He nodded emphatically. 'Drink it. It's been sitting around all my life. Waiting for me.'

'There's another one over there.'

'That big tube?'

She nodded, and he got up and fetched it.

'Not very heavy. Doesn't rattle.' He frowned. 'Can't guess. Unless it's a bit of plumbing.'

She sat smiling, saying nothing. Eventually he pulled off the paper and found a hollow cardboard tube. He peered inside and pulled out a rolled up piece of heavy paper; Alex held on to one end so he could unroll it.

'Oh god…' He unrolled more. 'Bolls… _The man who shot Liberty Valance_? The Duke and Jimmy Stewart…'

The poster was as tall as Gene, six foot by four, intense colours on thick, soft paper.

'Hope you've got room for it.'

'It's going in the office. I'll shift one lot of filing cabinets. Good excuse to get rid of all that crap, then I can sit and look at it every day. When I'm not looking at you.' he rolled the poster up and put it back in its tube. 'Keep that safe. Bit of treasure, that, Bolls.'

He came back to the sofa where she sat and pulled her to her feet. 'Like you. But you're a whole island of pirate treasure, you are, Bolly. And I'm going to explore you very thoroughly. Inch by inch. Every contour.' He was growling, his hands roaming over her body as he made promises of discovery. His lips at her ear, he murmured his thanks. 'Generous, Bolls. Couldn't have found anything better. Thank you.'

'You're welcome, my love.'

_What did she call me?_ He pulled back so he could look at her. He had no idea what she saw in his face, but she smiled as though she'd given in to something, her beautiful eyes shining.

'I love you, Gene. Love you.'

He felt something deep inside him shift and dissolve. He looked at the contrary, challenging, generous woman in his arms, and knew with complete certainty that he'd found the centre of his world. 'Alex…' He kissed her in every way he knew how, trying to show her everything she meant to him, everything he felt for her. It took him some time, and in the end, he told her, quietly, simply, but he told her, and made her cry. But she was smiling, too, so he thought on the whole she'd taken it well.

xxxxxxxxxx

'Bit of good news this afternoon, while you were decorating. Got that slithery bastard Paul Tring.'

They were wrapped round each other on the sofa, heads together. Alex was wearing the jet earrings that he'd given her; the travel agent's confirmation blurb had fallen out of the folder showing pictures of Marrakesh. She seemed quite chuffed with the earrings, so he'd give her the rest of the glittering black jewellery at New Year, the intricate necklace and two bracelets. Gene couldn't remember ever feeling this deep contentment, utterly relaxed, wanting nothing more than he had at that moment. Happy.

'Hmmm? Panda? How'd you get 'im?'

'He was trying to sell puppies outside Spitalfields church this morning. Had half a dozen in a box, probably a month old, poor little things. He was getting at kids coming out of the service, piling the emotional blackmail on to parents. We persuaded him to show us round his other place, two streets away from the pet shop, so we didn't have to rouse a judge. Place is stuffed with illegal exotics. Birds, reptiles, even a bear cub. RSPCA have got the animals, and Panda got another black eye falling on a tortoise that Ray was holding. He's tucked up across the road with a couple of drunks. Gay drunks. Butch gay drunks.'

Gene chuckled. 'Hope he gets stuffed and mounted. Twice. Well done, Bolls.'

She sighed. 'The RSPCA man told me they'd start tomorrow. Picking up dogs and cats who've been abandoned. People buy them for their kids. Small, cute, instant hit. Then they crap on the carpet, or knock over an ornament, or scratch the baby, and they're out. Stupid bastards say they didn't realise. Can you believe people can be that thick?'

Gene kissed her forehead. 'Yes, love. That's why we've got a job. Stupidity, selfishness and greed. Ninety per cent of the problems we deal with. Won't ever change.'

'I know. I know… but it makes me boil. You get something that looks cute and plays nicely, and all's hunky dory. But it gets awkward, shows its teeth, growls. Makes mistakes. Does what it's born to do, and it's not so cute any more. Time to chuck it out. Can't see the value of it, even the difficult bits. Especially the difficult bits.'

'You still talking about dogs, Bolly?'

'Dogs. Cats. Big cats. Endangered species.' She sat up and put her arms round his neck, kissed him tenderly.

'What you on about, Bolls?' He pushed the hair away from her face and noticed his hand was shaking. Heart racing. Waiting for her to make him or break him.

'I've realised something today, Gene.'

The silence stretched for eons as they gazed at each other.

'_Gene_…' She put a hand to his face, enormous eyes locked to his. At last she smiled, and the rest was simple. 'A Manc lion is for life, not just for Christmas…'

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

– _end –_

_a/n: _

_- Song lyrics from Paul Simon – 'Something So Right'_

_- The Dogs Trust campaign "A dog is for life, not just for Christmas" began in 1979_


End file.
